


Hypothermia

by peternurphy



Category: Original Work
Genre: 1970s, Age Gaps, Attempted Murder, Controlling Relationships, Deep Throating, Hallucinations, Knives, M/M, Serial Killers, Spit As Lube, Supernatural Elements, belt spanking, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-24 04:44:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17697899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peternurphy/pseuds/peternurphy
Summary: A serial killer picks up a young hitchhiker.





	Hypothermia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PositivelyVexed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PositivelyVexed/gifts).



> 1\. HUGE thank you to earnshaws for proofing.  
> 2\. I wasn't sure about archive warnings, however, if abuse/noncon/underage are triggers it might be best to not read this.  
> 3\. Funny enough, I think this might be my first self-complete work with a full on plot that's longer than ~3000 words. I just sort of came up with a plot outline and decided I *had* to write everything I had planned, sooo....

At 2:45 pm on a Sunday, Matthew saw the young man walking along M-66. He was dressed light for the weather in a dark red flannel over blue jeans. Matthew slowed down as he saw the man’s thumb; he stopped the car when he saw the man’s face surrounded by curls of white-blonde hair. From inside the car he could see it was youthful and smooth. Certainly, this one would do, and there was nobody on the road to observe as Matthew rolled down his window and gestured for him to enter the vehicle. 

"Hey, thanks," he said. "It’s too damn cold out. I thought my thumb was gonna freeze off or something."

His voice was light like the color of his hair and eyes. Matthew turned to look more fully at him. He had a wide face, pushed up at the sides by sharply curved cheekbones and divided down the center by a long nose. His pale skin was flush from the cold, and Matthew could imagine how warm the blood that ran under the skin really was. His lips were reddened in much the same way. Regardless, they curved into a small smile as the youth (he could not have been more than 20) processed Matthew, albeit likely with far different intentions.

"It’s no problem." Matthew started the car. There was no reason to be overly friendly, he had learned, though he turned on the radio in order to stop any nerves in his new passenger. 

"Thomas. I’m actually headed southwards, but you know, if I walk that way then nobody I want is gonna see me."

"I see," said Matthew. He wasn’t much interested in observations on hitchhiking. But then he began to feel rude, so he turned his head to face the youth. "My name is Matthew. I’d shake your hand, but I’m driving."

Apparently Thomas found that quite funny. Matthew couldn’t stop himself from smiling as he listened to the kid’s laugh. It really was a pleasant sound, a gentle breathy noise above the humming of the car’s engine. "Hey, I don’t mind. It’s big enough that you stopped for me in the first place."

Matthew was experienced enough to suppress his laugh. He instead feigned a look of concern as he studied his face again. "You were in the middle of nowhere, in winter. I wasn’t about to leave someone to get hypothermia."

"Oh, I wouldn’t get hypothermia."

Now Matthew could laugh. It was the same with most teenage boys – they seemed to think themselves invincible. Thomas was far from the first he had encountered in the dead of winter, walking alone and underdressed. They all seemed to think themselves capable of overcoming anything. "I doubt that," he said. "How old are you, anyway?"

"17."

"Well, that explains it."

"Hey, I live around here. It’s not as middle of nowhere as you think."

"Charlevoix?"

Thomas shook his head. "Small place. Small, shitty place. You wouldn’t know it, and right now I’m not in the mood to talk about it."

Matthew didn’t need any more information than that. He returned to that practiced expression of sincere concern. He let Thomas sink into the passenger seat and gaze out the window into the skeletal trees, let the kid  press his fingers together and furrow his brow. He focused back out the windshield himself. As always, hardly anybody took this road at this time. But the initial turn off was coming soon. The last thing he wanted to do was miss an exit.

They drove in silence for maybe a few minutes longer before Thomas began to fidget in his seat. Matthew’s eyes flicked over. Hopefully the kid wasn’t getting  _ anxious  _ all of a sudden. Some of them seemed to panic as they got further away from their initial location. Some even suddenly asked Matthew to stop the car and let them out. He obliged those. But Thomas was simply smiling again - more of a smirk. He glanced at the dashboard, then at Matthew, then back out the window.

“Something on your mind?”

“Just wondering - you got a radio, or cassette player or something?”

“What do you see?” asked Matthew.

“Then, can I put on the radio?”

Matthew gave a shrug of assent, and Thomas’ fingers immediately went to the dials. The station was a pop station, playing that  _ Star Wars  _ remix under a little fuzz. Thomas’ nose wrinkled and he immediately changed it. He paused on a few stations - but his finger remained on the dial, working it across the spectrum. He never left it in one place for longer than half a song. Thomas’ knuckles tightened on the steering wheel. At the very least, he saw his exit - and between some static and a weather broadcast, Matthew turned off onto an unpaved road into the woods.

At this point there was usually a question. He varied his answers. Sometimes he would claim he was taking a shortcut, or needed to stop for something. Other times he would flat out tell the kid to shut up. Maybe he would tell the truth as a joke, or not - either got a fun reaction. Pure silence the same. But Thomas continued to play with the radio. His face maintained the same vague smile until the stations began to fade out into static under the cover of the tree branches. Even then he simply tilted his head and looked up at Matthew.

“Your radio isn’t working,” he announced. He continued spinning the dial in hopes of finding something. “Do you think it’s the trees?”

“Possibly.”  

“There’s gotta be something,” said Thomas. His lips pressed together as his fingers spun the knob. “Unless you’ve got any cassettes?”

“I don’t have any cassettes.”

“Geez, okay - I was just asking.” He finally turned off the radio and leaned back in his seat. “Guess you’re not a music guy, huh?”

Matthew shrugged. “I like music enough. I just never got around to putting in a cassette player.” He turned onto a smaller path - barely a road. The wheels of the car bumped over rocks and leaves as Thomas laughed. 

“Really? What sort of stuff do you like?”

Now Matthew was finding it difficult to keep a straight face. He never had had somebody get to this point without growing uneasy. But Thomas was continuing to look at him with simple curiosity, as if the question about his music taste was the only important thing to ask. Matthew glanced in his rear view mirror. He was far enough from the main road to laugh out loud now. 

“What’s so funny?” asked Thomas, and Matthew continued to laugh.

He stopped the car under a tall pine. Thomas glanced around. “You’re acting kind of odd, you know that?” he said. 

“Are you retarded or something?”

“Excuse me?”

Thomas stared Matthew straight in the eye. He still looked simply perplexed, and Matthew reached into the sheath on his belt. His fingers curved around the smooth wood of the handle of his hunting knife. He had seen in the news about the ones that used guns, about would-be victims who fought back and evaded the knife. Matthew still vastly preferred the feeling of pressure as a not-quite-sharp enough blade pushed against and through skin, the intimacy of his skin against some young man as that first blood was drawn. The knife afforded him the ability to kill according to certain specifications. If he was forced to shoot his victim, the anxiety came back quicker. The woods would pull him back and demand someone new after maybe a month. The knife let him take his time, do things the way nature wanted. A good enough kill would let him remain away for more than a year.

Regardless, he kept a revolver in the glovebox. 

He drew it now, and turned it over a few times in his hands. “After all the shit you hear in the news, you’d think there would be less people hitchhiking. You’re a man, yeah - but some of us are  _ real  _ perverts. Doesn’t make you any safer.”

Thomas said nothing. His eyes went to the knife in Matthew’s hand. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. 

Matthew nodded at this silent response. “He finally catches on,” he drawled. “If you’re curious about what’s gonna happen, here’s how it works: I’m gonna torture you, first. Then I’m going to kill you, string your body up against the trees, and leave you here. And in a few months I’m gonna find another teenage boy and do the same thing to him.” He undid the lock on his side of the car and stepped outside as Thomas continued to sit in silence, eyes wide and body turned towards the driver’s seat. Matthew walked around slowly to open the passenger door. “Out, now.”

Thomas did not get out of the car. Matthew sighed.

“Come on. It’s happening, you might as well. I’m not getting bloodstains in my car.” Matthew tapped Thomas’ shoulder to try and nudge him. Thomas was still stationary, so Matthew grabbed the shoulder and jerked him out of the car. Thomas fell onto the ground, on his back with his hands against the frost-covered twigs and dirt. Matthew opened the glovebox now. He produced a length of rope and coiled it around his forearm, before kneeling on the ground and grabbing onto Thomas’ legs. The boy kicked and struggled; Matthew pushed the knife up against the crotch of Thomas’ jeans. “Stay still, or I’ll cut here first.” 

Thomas stopped fighting.

He tied Thomas’ ankles together. Now he cut through the clothing. Despite himself, he felt a bit sorry for Thomas. It was cold out - and as the denim fell away from his legs and exposed pale skin, gooseflesh began to rise. The shirt remained to be taken care of, but Matthew could hardly help himself as he began to run the tip of the knife along Thomas’ inner thigh. He barely pressed in, yet the skin opened up and bright red blood began to drip along the curved lines. The skin around the cuts quickly turned pink and inflamed at the edges. Between Thomas’ legs Matthew saw his cock harden. It was not fully erect, but there was certainly blood pushing to the organ. He nudged it with the knife.

“You’re really pretty,” Matthew said, his finger pushing along the broken skin and taking up the blood. He held it before his face and frowned. He was doing what he was supposed to - though there was no coaxing, no gentle glittering from the pine needles around him and no softening of the howling winds.

“Thank you.”

The weak, ironic response from Thomas broke Matthew’s reverie. He pushed the knife against his thigh again. As he did so he felt a cold wind shove into his back. Matthew himself shivered now. His hand shook slightly; the knife jerked and left a larger, more jagged cut into Thomas’ thigh. The boy finally made a pained noise, but Matthew swore. 

He grabbed Thomas’ collar and tugged hard. Without the knife it tore; he finished the job with the knife. “I think…” he started, moving the knife along Thomas’ bare chest. Again, he noticed that burst of cold wind. His arm was shaking harder now. Was he supposed to be doing this faster? He paused as Thomas shivered before him, watching him anxiously. His hands were still free and pressed against the earth. Matthew grabbed the length of his blonde hair and stood up, eliciting a high pitched whine. “We should move,” he decided. He opened the car and tucked the revolver into his pants.

Matthew dragged Thomas by the hair through the woods. He crushed sticks and leaves underfoot and ignored the sound of their breaking in favor of turning back and kicking Thomas for any attempts at reaching for his ankles. He had gone to the previous location previously; he had prepared it. But he had never felt that wind before, even in his other winter kills. Perhaps it was pushing him deeper. 

After ten or fifteen minutes he came to a slow moving, shallow, stream. He threw Thomas into it and nudged him over with his boot, letting the water wash away the dirt and dried blood. Thomas now screamed as he was submerged in the likely near freezing water. His arms thrashed and he drew air loudly in when his face came above the water; his hair fell over his face and the myriad little cuts on his skin grew even redder. He grabbed at the shore and tried to pull himself out. Matthew kicked him back in.

“Stop,  _ please _ !” he screamed. Matthew initially laughed again until he saw the running of the water slow. The trickling of the stream across the rocks quieted and the sun was covered by a large cloud, ending that promising glitter on the water. He thought about cutting Thomas open regardless, about opening all the arteries to offer his blood to the water. It made him nauseated. “ _ Please _ …”

He did stop. He turned his back, and the sound of the water returned. Would people really believe some teenage runaway with only some scrapes and cuts to show for his story? Would Thomas even make it out of the woods without freezing to death? If he didn’t, it wasn’t Matthew’s fault. He sheathed his knife as he began to walk away. He felt somewhat light-headed. Once he made it to his car he could drive to the nearest motel and sleep whatever strange condition had come over him off. If the pull remained in the morning, he could drive across the state and find somebody there. The chance of Thomas running to the police and getting a response was rather slim, but he still had to consider it. 

When he returned to his car, he stowed his gun and sat in the driver’s seat. He felt too shaken to even drive. He lay his head against the steering wheel and closed his eyes. It wasn’t too cold in the vehicle - perhaps he could simply nap there for an hour. His limbs felt dead, and he drifted off.

 

He was awoken by tapping on his window. First he raised his head slowly. He glanced groggily to the side, then swore. Thomas had gone to the police. He had gone, he had told them what had happened, and managed to bring them straight to the car. And like a fool, Matthew had taken a nap and overslept at the exact sight he had kidnapped and attempted to kill a teenage boy. He reached for the glovebox before anything.

But it wasn’t a police officer. It was somebody completely nude standing outside of the window, naked and covered in little wounds. Matthew blinked and shook his head, but when he looked back the same figure was standing there. He reached for his revolver and rolled his window down. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Are you a serial killer?”

Matthew stared at him. He blinked again and reached out to try and touch him. Thomas was real flesh (and quite cold flesh, Matthew found - but it made sense). “Why are you here?”

“Let me come with you.”

Matthew said nothing to that. He kept his hand on Thomas as he pieced through what must have happened. He fell asleep in his car, while Thomas got up, untied his legs, and walked back to the car. And instead of trying to find his way back somewhere, he went to the car. “Is this about your clothes?” asked Matthew. Was shame really greater than this kid’s self-preservation?

“No - but if you have extras, I’ll take them. I want to go with you.”

“I was going to kill you.”

“But you didn’t,” said Thomas. “You stopped, and you left me. And I’ve decided that I’d rather go with you and do what you do, instead of sticking around here. It’s safer than me going to the police, isn’t it?”

In his lap, Matthew held onto the revolver. “You’re not entirely stupid,” he admitted. “But what’s stopping me from just killing you?”

“You did not, and you will not.” Thomas crossed his arms. “You can let me in the car, and let me join you, or you can risk me going to the police. Those are your only two options, so you might as well choose one, right?” He had the same, easy smile from before, with his lips curled slightly up. But his eyes were narrow and fixed directly onto Matthew. Despite the cold of the car, a bead of sweat rolled down Matthew’s back.

“Fine. Get in. I have clothes in the back.”

Thomas walked around to sit in the passenger seat. Matthew twisted to grab a pair of pants and a sweater from a back in the backseat, and tossed them into Thomas’ lap. “Get dressed so I don’t get pulled over,” he ordered. Thomas did so immediately. The bruises and wounds were now covered on his body, but the marks that marred his face stayed in place. Matthew studied him; he took in the cut that stretched up from the side of his lip and the large scrape across the opposite cheekbone. One of his earlobes was nearly split. He looked better this way, thought Matthew. Before he had been attractive, of course. But now, Matthew wanted to push his tongue into the broken skin and taste his blood. He put his hand on the back of Thomas’ neck and leaned in, feeling like the kid was pulling him to do it. Thomas took the kiss with his lips slightly open and a soft hum, which grew as Matthew pressed his tongue against the split and pulled him closer.

Then he released him and started the car. “Is that why you ran away?” he asked. Thomas said nothing. His thumb was rubbing against his lips, and he glanced to the side. Matthew didn’t ask him anything else as they pulled out onto the highway. He even turned on the radio, and when Thomas’ fingers inevitably went to the dials he said nothing to him. He didn’t know what to make of this kid - of his initial naivete, of his interest in joining Matthew despite everything, of the way he clearly enjoyed the kiss and had clearly left home due to those inclinations. Was that the reason Thomas was so invested in joining him? Did he see running off with a killer as the only option for himself as a homosexual? For a moment, Matthew thought about forcing a home address out of the kid and dropping him there. But then Thomas would be free to go to the police - and besides, what if he was leaving a more dangerous situation?

And he was pretty. So pretty, especially now with his injuries and his lingering surprised expression at being kissed. Even Matthew’s annoyance at the constant radio changes faded when he looked up at Thomas’ face and slightly pursed lips. The boy would stay, he thought, as he drove south along the highways and through the coniferous forests. Sometime in the evening it had began to snow, and Matthew turned on his windshield wipers so he could better see the road. Tomorrow he would make Thomas navigate; for tonight, it was unnecessary.

But he sighed. “If you’re really going to stay here, we need to get a few things in order,” he finally said. Thomas’ eyes widened as he turned to face Matthew. “I didn’t intend and certainly didn’t expect to take on a second, and I don’t fully know what I should do with you. But I can’t have you getting me arrested or killed. Anything relating to the killing is entirely on  _ my  _ terms - you aren’t going to be making decisions, you aren’t going to be urging me on, you aren’t going to be doing anything I don’t want. You’ll do what I tell you to do and say what I tell you to say, and if you don’t I’ll make it really fuckin’ hurt. Are we clear?”

“Of course,” said Thomas. He had turned off the radio to listen, and gave another tiny flash of a smile.

“Good. We’ll talk more in the morning,” said Matthew, and he pulled into the motel.

The room they took had one bed. It was cheaper, and somehow Matthew doubted Thomas would complain about it. If it was a problem, the boy could sleep on the floor. Thomas immediately made his way for the shower without a comment on the arrangements, and Matthew undressed and put on some local news program. A body had been found locally - some unnamed girl buried in an abandoned lot. Matthew couldn’t help but laugh.

Thomas wore only his towel when he finally emerged from the bathroom. Matthew glanced up at him from the bed. “You hear? They found a girl’s body,” he said. His lips curved upwards as Thomas glanced quizzically at the television. 

“I thought you only killed guys.”

“That’s correct,” said Matthew. Thomas looked confused still. “Come on, it was a joke.” 

The look on Thomas’ face was still somewhat disapproving. Nonetheless, he tossed the towel aside to curl under the blankets. His body pushed Matthew’s to the side and stretched out slowly before it turned to face the other man, eyes closed and hair splayed out. One of his bruised arms stretched out to lay casually across Matthew’s chest. Matthew stared at it with a furrowed brow, but he could not bring himself to push it off.

As the man on TV began to drone on about a factory reopening somewhere, Thomas’ hand began to move slowly along Matthew’s chest. “What are you doing?” he asked. Instead of answering, Thomas simply opened his eyes and smiled. His lips were closed as if hiding a secret, and his hand slid lower to the waistband of Matthew’s underwear. His fingers were long and pale like the rest of him. The tips ghosted light along Matthew’s abdomen; he pushed gently at the edge of the fabric. Matthew shivered, and he felt himself stiffen.

“Are you trying for something?” he asked. Thomas nodded as he continued to tease. Matthew narrowed his eyes. “I was gonna kill you,” he said. Again, Thomas nodded. “I dragged you by your hair through the woods and kicked you into a freezing stream. I was going to cut you open and have you bleed out into the water. Did you forget that?” 

Thomas shook his head. 

Matthew sighed and stood up, pushing Thomas’ hand off of him. “You’re sicker than I am, you know that?” he asked. “Are you some kind of murder groupie? Were you out  _ looking _ for a killer?”

Thomas sat up to meet his eyes. He shook his head as he stared up at Matthew, pale eyes wide and angled slightly up. Matthew moved forwards to touch his face. He traced with his fingers Thomas’ lip, and pressed harder against the split. “You just get off on this, then. I saw you getting hard when I was cutting you up, you know.” Thomas’ cheeks flushed slightly; Matthew’s hand jerked down and grabbed him by the neck. “Might as well keep you around, then.”

He lifted him and tossed him back down, shoving him onto his stomach when he landed on the bed. Despite Thomas’ relative size, he felt light in Matthew’s grip. He grabbed Thomas by the legs and wrenched them open. “Bet it would be nice if we had some lube, hm?” he asked. “Bet this is your first time, too.” He reached below Thomas’ hips now and felt his erection, then wrapped his hand loosely around it to give a few jerks. Thomas bucked himself forward against it; Matthew laughed. 

“By the way, if I fuck you and I end up with shit on my dick, the whole thing about not killing you is over.”

“I’m clean.”

Matthew nearly barked. He smacked Thomas’ ass and touched the pink blemish that formed. The cuts between his legs were easily visible from this position as well. He placed both of his hands around the left thigh and squeezed hard, relishing the noises of pain that came from the boy in his grasp. “That hurt?” he growled, and the ‘yes’ from Thomas sounded more like a mewl than any speech. Matthew squeezed harder.

He grabbed Thomas by the hair again. This seemed to have some effect, to bring back some memory, as when he brought Thomas’ head over to face him Thomas’ eyes widened and even watered. “Get it wet and it might hurt less,” he offered as he pulled his erection from his boxers. Thomas tentatively drew his tongue out and licked along the underside of Matthew’s head. He barely touched Matthew’s cock, the only sensation rather hazy. So Matthew shoved him by the back of his head forward and onto his cock, eliciting a noise of shock and gagging from Thomas. Matthew felt the spasming of his throat around his cock, felt Thomas’ tongue struggling to find something to do and his teeth occasionally grazing him by accident. Matthew tugged his hair when he did so.

He pushed into the back of Thomas’ throat with a fistful of blonde curls in his hand, but soon he began to tire of this. He pulled out and let the saliva drip down Thomas’ chin. Now he noticed that the boy’s eyes were red and wet. With a lighter finger he wiped them away, as Thomas coughed. Nonetheless, he looked up at Matthew “Are you gonna fuck me?” His voice was ragged.

“Tell me how you want it.”

“I wanna see your face.”

Thomas’ eyes were wide open; he never once bothered to wipe the spit off of his chin. His earnestness almost unnerved Matthew. Matthew’s grip on his hair loosened and for a moment he felt lightheaded. His vision doubled and Thomas’ eyes faded into his skin. Now they were just empty white. His eyelashes lengthened, as well as his teeth under the pale lips which now curved parallel the entire length of his jaw, smiling wickedly. When Matthew’s hands finally left his hair, there seemed to be curved horns of pure ivory that protruded out from the skull, glittering under the flickering light of television. Matthew’s hand shook as he reached to touch them.

And then they were gone. Thomas was sitting there, as flushed and warm as before, the same expectant expectation on his face. “Get on your back,” Matthew ordered. He almost snapped it in his effort to combat his near-hyperventilating. Thomas immediately did, laying in front of Matthew on his back. His arms were slightly out to the side and his hair splayed like a halo around his head. For a moment, Matthew thought about taking the knife from the bedside table and putting a large splash of red in the center of the white body.

But that would have been reckless. He took Thomas’ legs and hoisted them up, until Thomas’ back was forced to curve to accommodate the pressure. When he shoved inside, Thomas screamed.

“Christ, you gotta be quieter,” Matthew scolded above his grunt of exertion. But the sound pleased him - clearly spreading him like this  _ hurt _ . That was more pleasant than the actual sensation - without lube, it was almost uncomfortable for Matthew himself. 

“I’m-  _ fuck, _ ” said Thomas. He groaned and reached up to hook his elbows around his knees. 

“I told you to get it wet,” hissed Matthew as he began working to a slow pace. He himself knew that no amount of saliva would negate the pain - but he felt that Thomas didn’t. The boy could blame himself for how much it hurt - and Matthew would simply enjoy the tightness and the keens of pain. 

But he wasn’t entirely cruel, he thought. He pushed up - as if probing inside of Thomas for something. This would be easier with his fingers, but eventually Thomas’ quiet grunts and noises turned into a higher-pitched moan. His cock even twitched on his stomach. Matthew let one of Thomas’ legs fall to the side to reach down and touch it. He drew his hand up the length and jerked lazily as he used Thomas’ tightness to stimulate himself. When he felt precum he stopped, however - Thomas certainly wasn’t about to come first.

Matthew closed his eyes and drew in a long breath as he fucked Thomas. As he built up the rhythm the friction against his cock became an almost pleasant sensation, and he pushed hard against it and up into Thomas’ guts. It felt almost like stabbing him - especially when Matthew heard the sound of flesh on flesh and felt one of the cuts open under his fingers break and leak blood. He sped up his thrusting.

In his focus on himself Thomas’ body had blurred away again. He looked back down at him - seeing more precum spill from his cock and a flush that had formed on his neck and face. Matthew pressed harder and faster into him, shaking Thomas’ noises into jerky, guttural moans as his body shook on the bed. Matthew hissed with his own exertion as he felt his cock begin to throb and his thighs tense. 

When Matthew gave a final thrust into him, he grabbed Thomas’ cock and tightened his hand around it. He slid up the length and jerked near the head. It was only a few seconds before Thomas spilled onto himself. Matthew almost expected to see red blood dripping down. But when he pulled out and really looked at Thomas’ worn out body, there was only semen along his stomach (and now, dripping out from between his legs). 

“You gonna sleep now?” asked Matthew. Thomas said nothing, and Matthew sat next to him to give a few light smacks to his cheek.

“Get me a tissue?”

Matthew clenched his fist. His ears rang for a few seconds; it faded as he pushed his teeth into his tongue. He reached to the side and grabbed the tissue box off the bedside table. He took one to wipe the semen off of Thomas’ stomach. It was tossed aside, and the tissue box placed back onto the table. 

Now Thomas sat up and pulled Matthew by the shoulders. “Sleep next to me,” he said.

“Bold of you to try and order me like that.”

Thomas shrugged. He leaned forward and placed a kiss on Matthew’s cheek, the pale eyelashes fluttering against his cheek. “But you will?” he asked softly. Matthew nodded. 

“We’re driving out of state tomorrow,” he said. He crawled across the bed to pull blankets over himself. Thomas turned to lay next to him, pushing his head into Matthew’s chest and tucking his knees in. In seconds he seemed to be asleep, smiling vaguely. Matthew joined him.

They set out mid-morning. The plan, as Matthew explained to a constantly yawning and fidgeting Thomas, was to go up into upstate New York. The Adirondacks seemed promising enough, and when he looked at a map of the region he felt a calm that northern Michigan had lately been lacking. He didn’t want to risk bringing Thomas out of the country (in fact, driving out of state with him made him a bit uneasy), so he planned to drive down around Lake Erie and up into New York.

Thomas slept for much of the day in the passenger seat of the car. He almost blended into the sky - at times, Matthew would look over and swear he saw nobody else in the car. After a few seconds Thomas would appear again. He did not snore as he slept - despite his open mouth, Matthew couldn’t even hear his breathing. It was almost like driving with a corpse in the car. But by the time the sun was hidden behind the rows of black pines, Thomas was fully awake and present. He sat cross-legged in the seat of the car, and leaned against the window to look at Matthew.

“Are you gonna kill someone else soon?”

Matthew clenched his hands around the wheel. “You’re real eager, aren’t you?” he asked. Thomas shrugged and kept his eyes fixed directly onto him. “I have to get someone soon,” Matthew said. “I don’t know what the fuck happened with you, but  _ it’s _ not going to be happy with me if I don’t find somebody else.”

“So should I look out for hitchhikers?”

“No.” Matthew flicked on the headlights as he drove under a canopy of needles and newly-formed clouds. “I’m not gonna make someone else disappear from the same place, right after you. It’d draw attention.”

Thomas’ face fell. “I guess that makes sense,” he conceded. Nonetheless, his lower lip stayed pushed out and his shoulders fell against the seat. He huffed loudly and crossed his arms, turning to stare out the window. “When we get out of state, can we?” he asked.

“That’s the plan. If you want to get there faster, you could help me navigate. There’s a map in the armrest.”

Thomas took the map and looked over it. “We’re on I-75,” he said.

“I was aware.”

“So once we reach Ohio, we can find somebody?”

Matthew again felt his muscles tense. “Are we going to Ohio?” he asked - his voice almost shaking in annoyance.

“Well, no, but-”

“So, are we going to do anything in Ohio?”

Thomas shook his head. He hissed quietly and gazed back out the window. Even the radio dials didn’t interest him while he was in this state. Matthew decided to let him sulk. It was less annoying than him asking questions or playing with things in the car. He leaned with his elbow against the window and the back of his head towards Matthew. The closer they got to Ohio the more dreary it seemed. There were some trees, but they had lost their leaves weeks ago and did nothing to break up the monotonous expanse of sky. Empty fields stretched out in all directions. The landscape lacked any snow to cover their fallow. Thomas was the only thing to truly break the field of vision, and Matthew found himself grateful for him. It was the first time that he felt that way.

They stayed the night in a motel just south of Lake Erie. Matthew fucked Thomas against the wall of their room and slept with him in his arms, stroking his hair and smiling down at him before he drifted off. It was a strange sort of tenderness, and when Matthew awoke alone, he felt a simple loneliness before a panic set in.

He jerked himself out of bed and dressed in seconds. As he left the room the door slammed loud enough to shake the flimsy metal balcony; as he ran down the stairs he felt one step shift under him. But before he could reach the car, he spotted Thomas walking from across the parking lot, a bag dangling from his left hand. 

“Where the hell did you go?!”

“I needed clothes. I paid in cash, I’m not stupid.” He smiled and lifted the bag slightly. “I’m not too late, am I?”

“You-” He wasn’t late. It was only 10 am, and Matthew had had much later starts. “You’re not late, but you’re never gonna fuckin’ go off on your own without telling me, okay?”

“I… didn’t want to wake you up,” said Thomas.

“Then you can wait. I had half a goddamn heart attack.”

Thomas rolled his eyes. “Come on - I can’t be out of your sight? Are you my dad or something?”

“This-” He wanted to scream at him, to grab him by the hair and slam him against the car. But it was light out, and there were other people somewhere in the motel. He pulled closer and lowered his voice to an angry whisper, pushed out of a tight chest. “If you don’t want to be a pile of fucking bones at the bottom of a lake, you’re going to do as I say. The next time you pull something like this, I…” Matthew glanced up. Somebody had come out of their room to smoke. “You’re not gonna try this shit again.”

The next two days were blissfully free of Thomas’ dumber questions and actions. They reached a small inn in the mountains, with a manager that seemed on the verge of dementia. Matthew now was willing to allow Thomas some freedom, as he himself wanted to walk through the woods and determine what was wanted of him. The messages were fainter - but there were enough pines for Matthew to have an idea of the next person to give them. 

The first order of business would be to find the proper place. It couldn’t be too close to the inn - or really, too close to any roads. With how difficult the terrain could be, that could be a problem. Locking the doors of a car and driving too fast for anyone to jump out had always been Matthew’s strategy. Here, they could easily get out on one of the more difficult roads. He couldn’t chase them through these steeper rocks and trees without risking injury to himself, and the current ice added to that liability. He also doubted that anyone (except, perhaps, Thomas) would be so comfortable following a stranger deep into the woods.

As he walked back to the inn along a winding, ascending path that strained his thighs and chest, he thought about Thomas again. Perhaps he would have the boy act as bait. Sure, he could be unsettling. But he was a better age, and while his earnestness was perverse, it tempered the pale-eyed stare and the constant toying. Thomas would certainly be eager to help as well. Matthew’s initial plan was simply to have him as insurance - but if he could have a more active role, perhaps he would take things more seriously.

Of course, he hadn’t experienced a single kill yet. Matthew wondered how he would handle that. If he had to put Thomas down, he would. The thought made him a little bit sad. Over the past few days he had gotten used to having something of a gadfly with him. He would miss the sex as well - it had been ages since he had had any kind of consistent sex.

As he came up to the paved road the mottled grays of the forest faded into a dull blur of human constructions and cloudy sky. When he entered the inn he made a few seconds of eye contact with the decrepit manager. He was about to turn down the hall when the man gave a creaky inhale, indicating he was about to speak.

“Your friend started talking to my grandson.”

Matthew froze in his place. He had began to take off his scarf, but he wrapped it back around his neck as he turned around. With a practiced smile on his mouth, he looked at the man. “Your grandson?”

“Yes, they’re about the same age.” The old man’s voice wavered gratingly. “They went out back.”

Matthew didn’t bother to thank him as he walked to the back door of the inn. He threw the flimsy door open and the spring jerked it shut with a sound like a shot. The guy Thomas was talking to jumped and looked back at Matthew; Thomas waved. 

“This is Arthur,” he said. Arthur looked a fair bit younger, with close cropped red hair and large glasses that magnified his eyes. Matthew didn’t bother to greet him. He marched up to Thomas and grabbed him by the upper arm. 

“It’s nice to meet you Arthur, but I need to talk to him.” He jerked Thomas with him back inside. 

“Hey, what are you-”

“Shut up - just shut up.” Matthew hissed at him as he dragged him past the old man, down halls with torn carpeting and into the room. Thomas at least had the sense not to shout and make a scene until they reached the room and Matthew tossed him down onto the bed. Thomas fell onto his back and stared up at him. Now he asked again in a full voice. But Matthew simply ignored it; he turned the television on to the first program and locked and bolted the door.

He turned back to Thomas now. His hands went to his belt buckle; they shook as he undid it and pulled it from his jeans. “How much did you tell him?”

“I-I just said we were travelling together, I didn’t even tell him your name-”

Matthew inhaled deeply. Maybe it was his own fault. He hadn’t told Thomas much about staying low, about not drawing attention. It made sense that Thomas would want to talk to somebody. Perhaps the fault lay with him for not letting him join him on his walks, as well, or for not talking to him after railing him every night. He let his arm fall and the belt hang limply.

“And I think he’ll be a good target.”

That broke the calm. Matthew grabbed him by the hair. “Did I tell you to go looking for victims?”

“No, but-”

“Do you think it’s a good idea to kill someone who lives at the same fucking inn we’re staying at?!”

“I-”

“Do you think we should murder somebody who knows us, and saw you talking to him?”

Finally Thomas stopped trying to argue. He frowned. “I-I guess not,” he admitted. “I didn’t, I-”

Matthew turned him over. He threw the belt onto the bed and grabbed the waist of Thomas’ trousers, yanking them down without bothering with the fly. Forcing them over his bony pelvis left pink marks along the sides of his hips, near bruises from the previous nights that remained. “If this happens again I’ll shoot you,” he hissed as he folded the belt in half. Thomas said nothing - not even an apology. He would be sorry soon enough, thought Matthew, as he swung the belt through the air. The sound of it travelling was like a breath; the sound of it hitting Thomas’ flesh like a large branch breaking.

Thomas screeched. Matthew said nothing more as he continued to swing the belt, rapid-fire hits that painted pink and soon red welts across his partner’s ass and thighs. Thomas squirmed under the pain that Matthew gave, though he stayed in place on the bed. It was almost admirable. He let his arm slow down to put more force into the smacks. How long would he last? Would Matthew have to break his skin before he showed any more discomfort than writhing in place and wailing incoherently? He hadn’t even asked Matthew to stop.

He gave one final swing with all of his force. It echoed loudly through the room, and when Matthew finished he found his ears were ringing. He set the belt back down and reached with his hand to run fingers over the raised skin. Thomas’ breath hitched when Matthew pressed his fingers in. His hips were moving slightly with the touches, as if he were stimulating himself against the bed.

It made enough sense. Nobody with normal tastes, even among homosexuals, would be so eager to join up with somebody like Matthew. He laughed as he took his hand away and watched for a few moments as Thomas’ pelvis rolled. “If you’re that desperate,” he drawled. “I should’ve expected the whipping to get you like this.” 

At the same time, Matthew was still flaccid. He palmed himself over his jeans as he watched Thomas squirm. Soon he heard little grunts and faster breathing from him. His hips worked themselves faster against the covers and his hands curled into the blankets, knuckles pushing out through his skin. His arms looked almost skeletal in contrast with the deep red and purple that colored his backside. “Aren’t you going to fuck me?” he asked. 

Slowly Thomas rolled onto his side to look up at Matthew. His eyes were empty again. Matthew held onto his calves, initially squeezing but too weak in his muscles to maintain his grip. He could barely manage to slide his pants all the way off as the empty white eyes glowed and reflected the lights in the room. His hair sprawled out away from his face. In the curls he could see those same alabaster horns forming and growing out. This time they curved towards him, pointed directly at Matthew’s face.

“Can’t get it up?”

Matthew did not answer him. Thomas sat up slowly, and a grimace fully twisted the features of his face when he sat up. His mouth curved up from his left cheekbone into the right side of his jawline. “Let me help you,” he said, and Matthew could see a flash of needlepoint teeth surrounding a line of red. His fingers approached Matthew’s crotch and pressed against the fabric. White fur grew from the backs of his hands; his fingernails were replaced with claws that seemed to be the same material as the horns. They undid the button go his jeans and Matthew stood, unable to move. 

“Wait-” he breathed, as Thomas revealed his limp dick. Thomas’s jaw opened; he let Matthew see his tongue before he put it on his cock.

Matthew grabbed Thomas by the horns and threw him back. But the horns grew even longer now. They wrapped around his forearms and pushed into his skin, the hair grew longer and joined with them in an intricate weave along the arms. “Are you okay?” Thomas asked. Matthew could detect laughter. Even though he saw no motion of Thomas’ head or throat, he heard laughter that swirled around his head and bored into his skull. “Matthew?”

“Get off of me-”

“Matthew, what’s wrong?”

He looked back down. Thomas was lying on the bed with his eyes wide and his hands holding loosely to Matthew’s wrists. He had no horns; his hair only fell to his shoulders. His mouth parted slightly, and the only thing Matthew could see about his teeth was that they were slightly crooked. “If-If you don’t want sex, that’s fine, I just thought you would…” 

Matthew pulled his hands slowly from Thomas. “I don’t feel well,” he said. It wasn’t a lie. “You can take care of yourself. I need a shower.”

“Tell me if I can help…”

Matthew was silent as he locked the bathroom door behind him. He undressed and stepped into the shower. He barely noticed that the water was near freezing. He sat down against the side of the tub and leaned his head onto his knees. Thomas was human, likely completely innocent outside of his rather morbid interests. Matthew had never hallucinated before, but he felt certain that his unease about having a partner was breaking his hold on reality. 

It was a shame. Matthew had rather liked the idea of training some kid to be his assistant. Maybe if he had a partner he could focus his energies on learning more about what was happening to him. He had fantasized for years about finding the source of his pull to the pines, his need to give them the bodies of young men. But it seemed impossible - after all, no library would carry books on undefined forest spirits. He had thought about using Thomas, somehow, to gauge why it was  _ him  _ that was receiving this call. Maybe it would never end, but with more knowledge Matthew might have been able to tweak things - to minimize what he had to do. As he frequently said aloud to himself while driving or walking alone, he didn’t  _ enjoy  _ killing. It was just something he had to do. He was going to use Thomas to take away that necessity.

Alas, that would not come to pass. Thomas was no demon or supernatural creature. But there was something wrong with him, something that was breaking the hold that Matthew worked so hard to maintain on reality. Tomorrow, he decided, he would leave the inn with him. He would drive a few hours, south through the state and away from the old man. 

And Thomas would die.

Matthew never gave an explanation as to why they were suddenly going to the Catskills. “Maybe you should learn to just accept things,” he said when Thomas asked him. Thomas had a particular pout he gave when Matthew was brusque with him, and Matthew received it in full force throughout the entire drive. As annoying as it could be to have some teenager sulking at him, Matthew found himself driving below the speed limit and stopping at more rest stops, as if pushing his plans further away in time. 

He could only stall for so long, however. Soon the sun had set, and the mountains walled him in at the south of the state. They would imprison him until Thomas was taken care of, dumped in some lake to remain. It was the first kill that Matthew actually felt nervous about. As much as he wanted to be done with it, he drove in circles for at least an hour in the woods between the mountains.

But he had to do it eventually.

He stopped his car on a patch of dirt. What might have been a meadow in a warmer time fell down from the road and into the empty trees. “Let’s walk for a while,” he said. His revolver was already on his hip. 

Matthew led Thomas down the hill and into the woods. He found something that could be described as a path between the rocks and held Thomas’ hand as he walked with him. If Thomas had an idea of what was about to happen, he made no indication of it. And Matthew doubted he did, especially when Thomas would pause to point out an owl sitting at the top of a large branch or a frozen stream on the ground before them. He probably thought that they were going to talk more about Matthew’s particular  _ method _ . 

They walked more and more down. The path moved in circles as it descended, and Matthew thought about the bits of Dante he had skimmed in high school. The last circle, he knew, was reserved for the most heinous of traitors. Perhaps it fit his plan. A vague image of the Devil chewing on flesh entered his mind as Thomas pulled ahead of him, saying that he could see a lake at the bottom of the path. Matthew allowed himself to run with him.

“Do you think the ice is thick enough to walk on?” asked Thomas. Matthew shrugged and let him go ahead. “I’m gonna try.” 

He stepped out onto the ice. Matthew actually winced at the first step - he expected Thomas to break through the ice and step into freezing water. He didn’t know why he cared so much for his welfare. Nonetheless, the ice held fast under Thomas’ weight and allowed him to walk further along. “This is amazing - Matthew, come out here.”

Matthew followed his voice. His own first steps were tentative and slow, pressing gently onto the ice to make sure it wouldn’t shatter under him. He watched Thomas slide around on it, heard Thomas’ laugh echo through the still, frozen air. Soon, he would never hear it again. He stepped more confidently - perhaps it wasn’t a problem if the ice broke underneath him.

Several yards into the lake Thomas slid into him. Matthew grabbed him by the arms and stopped him, struggling to keep his balance. “Watch out,” he said quietly. “Some of it looks thin.” He pointed at the patches of blue ice closer to the center of the lake; Thomas glanced over and nodded. Once the deed was done, he would slide the corpse over and let it sink through the thin ice, Matthew thought.

“This place is amazing,” said Thomas. He leaned in and placed a kiss on Matthew’s cheek. Despite the cold, his lips were still warm, and Matthew felt the ghost of the affection for a few seconds after Thomas pulled back. He couldn’t help but sigh as he pulled the revolver.

“Then I’m happy you got to enjoy it.”

He meant what he said. But Thomas furrowed his brow and stepped back. “What’s that for?” he asked. 

“I can’t keep you with me anymore.” Matthew raised the revolver and took aim. However, his hand remained off the trigger. “I actually feel sorry about this, you know. But you’re too much.” 

“Matthew-”

“Can you just be quiet for once? I don’t  _ want _ to do this, but no matter what you say it’s going to happen. It  _ has _ to happen.” Thomas backed up on the ice, and Matthew approached him.

“Matthew, you aren’t going to shoot me.”

Matthew laughed. But his finger still would not move to the trigger, and his vision of Thomas began to shift. The boy grew in height while narrowing. Matthew had always thought the fingers on his hands to be too long. Now they spread out and bent away from his hand like legs of a harvestman. His eyes glowed in the darkness; when Matthew met them it physically hurt. He had to look down at his body, which was almost tree-like in how it stood and swayed. 

And his horns shone under the moonlight. Thomas continued to step back from him. “You won’t shoot me,” he repeated. Matthew tightened his grip on the gun and walked towards him. 

“I am,” he said. He tried to keep his voice stable. At some point it had begun to snow, and the snow on his bare fingers felt like like needles pressing into his skin. Thomas shook his head. The snow that had accumulated in his hair emanated out from him as if in mockery of a halo. “I’m going to shoot you,” Matthew repeated, pressing more air out from his lungs and into his voice.

“Is that what you truly think? Do you really, truly believe that?” Despite Thomas’ words, he stayed back and away from Matthew. Matthew’s biceps kept tensing and untensing. It felt like he was holding some heavy weight in his hand. The desire to put down this  _ thing  _ that stood before him, however, was beginning to rise above the disinclination to kill the boy that had travelled with him. His finger moved to actually touch the trigger.

Thomas turned his back and ran. He seemed to skip along the ice, his steps making clicking noises as they landed. As Matthew reached the end of the white ice he stopped. Perhaps, he thought, from  _ here- _

The shot echoed. The high-pitched ringing of Matthew’s ears overrode all other senses - even sight was too difficult to process. But he knew Thomas had survived when he heard laughter above the ringing, like Thomas’ throat was directly inside of his brain. “You aren’t going to shoot me,” Thomas repeated. Matthew let his vision focus and saw him in the center of the lake. “I know you won’t.”

Matthew took another tentative step - this time onto the darker ice. He braced himself for cold water that would crawl up his leg and sap his head, but it never came. The second step showed that the ice would hold him. After all, it had held Thomas. “Just put the gun down and take a moment to calm,” said Thomas. “You said it yourself - this isn’t what you want. Not like the others.”

“It’s not about what I  _ want _ !” 

Matthew ran forward now. He was within feet -  _ inches  _ of where Thomas stood. And when he took what he thought would be his final step, he did not process the rush of water until it engulfed him up to his shoulders. In shock he dropped the gun (it hit his foot underwater, but he could not tell). He thrashed under the freezing water and grabbed at the edge of the ice, but it was paper thin and dissolved in his grasp. Thomas stepped back; Matthew could see hooves beneath the trouser legs.

“Thomas, help me-”

Before the cold overtook his brain, he saw the long fingers reaching towards him. And in those last moments before black, they overtook his entire vision.


End file.
